


All Aboard the Party Ambulance

by ladydragon76



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, kink: orgy, kink: public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Party in the Applied Sciences Student Guild house!  BYOHg!</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Aboard the Party Ambulance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NKfloofiepoof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKfloofiepoof/gifts).



> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Ratchet/Starscream/Wheeljack  
>  **Warnings:** Sticky, PWP, Public Sex  
>  **Notes:** A prompt from nkfloofiepoof.

Ratchet blinked down at the empty glass in his hand. The frag was he carrying an empty glass for? The kind of lame-aft party was this? Where was the high grade at? He lifted his helm to scowl around the common room and momentarily forgot about the high grade he didn’t have. Who were all these mechs? Was the Applied Sciences Student Guild really this big? More importantly- who brought the seeker? Wait. Was that the seeker they had finally let into the academy? He had pretty white wings and a pert crimson aft, and Ratchet was going to walk right over there by the-

Oh hey. There’s where the high grade went!

“Nice legs,” Ratchet said as he propped his hip against the table. It helped hold him up as he reached past the seeker for another glass of that pale blue energon Wheeljack and one of the engineering student’s chemistry buddies had created. Potent slag that -thankfully- burned out taste receptors within the first swallow or two.

Red optics shifted down with a haughty sneer. “Oh please, finish your pathetic pick-up line and make my night complete.”

Ratchet swigged some energon, and then smirked up at the seeker with a brand of confidence that didn’t need high grade. “I was talking about my legs. They’re nice. I think they’d look great wrapped around your waist.”

An optic ridge arched, and if Ratchet had known the mech better -or was maybe a little less drunk and thus a better judge of expressions- he’d have sworn that the look he was given was meant to hide amusement. “Right here?” The tone suggested he didn’t think Ratchet would.

He was so very wrong and had clearly never been to a student guild party before.

“I’m game if you are. Name’s Ratchet,” Ratchet said and began clearing a spot on the table for his aft. “Scream it loud.”

That was definitely a snort of amusement that time, buried as it was in the glass the seeker was quickly draining. It was plonked on the table once empty, and bright optics regarded Ratchet for a moment. “Starscream,” he said, and reached for Ratchet. “Be sure _you_ scream it loud.”

One blue hand curled around Ratchet’s hip and the other cupped the back of his neck. Someone whooped off to the side, voice managing to carry over the throbbing music and cacophony of voices. Then hot lips crushed over Ratchet’s and everything faded into a background buzz. He tipped his helm, opening more, already hot and ready just from the idea of being ‘faced right there on the table in full view of everyone. Primus, but he did love knowing he had an audience. Though in this case, the exhibitionism was overshadowed by having a mech bigger than him hold him tight and plunder his mouth like he owned it.

Starscream pulled out of the kiss just as an overheat warning popped up on Ratchet’s HUD, and leaned back so he could look down between them. “Eager, are we?”

Ratchet shrugged and pretended not to notice how hard his vents ran in a futile effort to help cool his systems. He was only mildly surprised that his panel had popped open without him noticing. Not after that kiss. “Do you need more time to heat up?”

It had been meant as an honest question, but the seeker apparently took it as a challenge. The crowd cheered as Starscream’s spike extended, lubricant glistening in the dim, flashing lights.

“Nice.” Red fingers curled around the length and stroked lightly. “I like it hard.”

“It’s clearly hard,” Starscream said.

“You’re too literal,” Ratchet grinned, the tips of two fingers and the pad of his thumb playing over the spike’s ridges. “I meant the ‘facing.”

“It was a joke.”

“I’m a medic. Once we’re done here, I can overhaul your humor diodes. Make you actually funny when you tell jokes.”

Starscream snorted, that look of suppressed amusement sliding across his dark face again. “Humor diodes. My, you _are_ drunk, medical _student_.”

“Duh.” Ratchet bumped his hips forward, and then kicked out his legs for balance as his aft teetered on the edge of the table. Starscream kept him from sliding off with a solid grip to his waist, and Ratchet’s vents hitched and caught as that spike slipped along his array.

“Just frag already!” someone shouted, and the rest of the party-goers roared their agreement.

Starscream smirked as he leaned in and put his mouth close to Ratchet’s audial. “They’re as impatient as you. Very well,” he said.

The first thrust set the pace. Hard, pounding, and plenty more synonyms that Ratchet’s processors up and forgot under the tidal wave of pleasure. It was almost violent, and that was no complaint. Ratchet couldn’t do anything except cling to Starscream’s shoulders and shout with each powerful plunge of the spike driving into him. Every few thrusts he would catch sight of the other mechs in flickering snapshots over Starscream’s shoulders and wings. Some danced, others just stood around, laughing and drinking while they watched. One of the other med students had bent a friend over the back of a chair, and both mechs had their optics locked on Ratchet and Starscream, their rhythm an echo. Wheeljack’s chemist buddy was sprawled in a seat, knees wide as his hand lazily stroked a damn _generous_ spike.

Ratchet’s vents caught, and Starscream growled against his audial in reaction to the hungry clench of the valve. “Harder,” Ratchet demanded, and then cried out when Starscream pulled him into each thrust. Heavy, tingling swells of bliss rolled up through Ratchet with each driving plunge and made his spark throb faster. He threw his helm back, the whole universe spinning with him as begged for more. So close. Almost. Primus, yes! “There! _There_!”

Starscream growled, then bit Ratchet’s main line hard enough to puncture the line, and that was it. Ratchet bucked, back arching, his scream a long, wavering note as he was pinned to the sharp edge of his release. It broke over him, and he snapped back in against the seeker to gasp and sob through the powerful surges. Another growl, and Starscream pushed deep and held there, molten heat flooding over thoroughly abused nodes and shocking another smaller, but no less pleasant, overload through Ratchet’s systems.

“Fragging Unicron.” Ratchet let himself fall back on the table. A glass shattered on the floor, but he couldn’t have cared less.

“Now that looked fun,” Wheeljack said, leaning into Ratchet’s field of view from the other side of the table. Vocal indicators flashed a merry and intoxicated violet as the engineering student laughed and looked up at the seeker. “Can I have a turn?”

Starscream braced his hands on the table, hanging over Ratchet as he panted. “Maybe. But you’re spiking me this time. I think I scraped mine raw.”

“Yeah. Ratch has a good grip.”

Ratchet cast a glare at his best friend, but he was still too shaky to try to smack the mech like he deserved. Wheeljack just blinked in his version of a cheery smile, and said, “Sure. What’d’ya say, Ratch?”

“To what, you glitch?”

“Helpin’ me ‘face the seeker.”

“Helping you?” Starscream asked, one optic brightening.

Somewhere off to Ratchet’s left somebody was screaming their own pleasure, and the idea of sinking his spike into Starscream with Wheeljack suddenly sounded really good. “Sure. If Star’s willing.”

“Star _scream_. And I’m willing.” Starscream eyed them both a moment, then the table, then the floor. “Move,” he said and waved at Ratchet.

“I’m drunk, Star _scream_.” Ratchet could barely lift his helm, and his body was still tingling all over. The last thing he wanted to do was think or try to telepathically discover what the seeker wanted with that little flick of his hand. “Move where?”

The music drowned out the sound of what surely must have been a heavy, greatly put-upon sigh, but then Starscream reached out and began pushing high grade and glasses and goodies all out of the way. Ratchet yelped as his legs were grabbed and he was bodily turned on the tabletop. Wheeljack was laughing, and caught Ratchet by the shoulders to help pull him along the table’s length so he was more fully on it.

“I think I get it.” Wheeljack gestured for Starscream to precede him up, and Ratchet’s processors finally twigged onto exactly why he was being arranged on the table instead of dragged off it.

“Oh, right here? All three of us? Hope the table holds,” Ratchet said with a grin as the seeker crawled up over him.

That look of suppressed amusement was back as Starscream settled himself over Ratchet’s hips. “Are you going to remember any of this?”

“If he doesn’t, I will.”

Ratchet couldn’t see Wheeljack anymore, but he knew that aft when it plopped down onto his knees. “I’m not _that_ cratered.” Plus, hello~ Seeker. He wasn’t going to forget getting fragged, then getting _to_ frag a frelling seeker. Ooo. Alliteration. Ratchet giggled, then stopped himself and tried to give Starscream a sincere look. “I won’t forget,” he promised, and the seeker just shook his helm.

“I’m still back here,” Wheeljack said and waved a hand over Starscream’s shoulder. “And really ready for it.”

Starscream dropped his helm forward, a real smile finally breaking though. “Ridiculous. Primus,” he swore, then bent down to capture Ratchet’s lips in another mind-bending kiss. Someone shouted encouragement, and someone else moaned, but what really had Ratchet’s attention was the way the seeker gasped and rocked back a little.

“He’s all wet for us, Ratch,” Wheeljack said, voice loud to be heard over the music. His words brought a cheer from the crowd, and Ratchet pushed a hand down between them to see for himself. His fingers slid along a very slick array, then dipped into the valve next to two of Wheeljack’s. Starscream shivered all the way to his wingtips.

“Get on with it!” someone shouted, and many others took up the chant. “Frag him! Frag him!”

“Yes,” Starscream said and pushed himself up, arching his back to try to take their fingers deeper. “Frag me, damnit.”

Ratchet smirked, hooked his fingers better into the seeker’s valve, and then swept them along the rim. He could hear Wheeljack snickering, and a dark hand moved skillfully along the bottom edge of a wing. “Up then,” Ratchet ordered, pushing his fingers even deeper so he could pull at Starscream’s valve to guide him. Wings trembled and twitched, and Ratchet bit at his own lip to watch the way the seeker obeyed. He felt Wheeljack scoot up closer, their spikes bumping and sliding together.

A zing of pleasure shot straight to Ratchet’s spark. He gripped Starscream’s hip with his free hand, guided his spike with the other, and moaned as the seeker impatiently sank down onto him. “Let Jack-” Calipers rippled and squeezed, and Ratchet’s mind blanked until he felt Starscream lift off him. “Frag.” Before he could protest more, Wheeljack’s fingers curled around both their lengths, squeezed, and then Starscream was sinking back down again. “Oh frag…” For a moment, all Ratchet could do was melt onto the table and moan. Starscream’s valve was hot and wet, soft. It clenched and the calipers rolled up, then back down. Wheeljack’s spike was a hard line of pleasure along the underside of Ratchet’s own, the contrast blissful.

Then Wheeljack pulled back, and Starscream rocked forward, and Ratchet felt fire burn all across his plating. Their rhythm started off hitched and uncoordinated and never really improved, but that didn’t change how frelling good it felt. Ratchet clung to Starscream’s waist, bucking up hard as the seeker pressed him down against the table. Wheeljack had one arm looped around Starscream’s waist and the other had dug fingers into a transformation seam along Ratchet’s side. He was pulling himself into each thrust even as Ratchet hauled the seeker down onto their spikes harder. The cheering fell away, the music dulled, and Ratchet stared up into optics gone garnet as the charge boiled up through his lines. He wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer. A molten knot of lust swelled low in his belly, and everything tingled and buzzed.

When Starscream slammed his hips down, helm thrown back, and a long, wavering cry carried over the noise of the party, the tight squeeze of his valve dragged Ratchet over as well. Ecstasy burst bright and hard over his sensornet, and his shout echoed the seeker’s cries. Wheeljack thrust harder just a few more times, and then another flood of heat washed over Ratchet’s spike.

“Slag me,” Starscream panted. He dragged his hands off Ratchet’s chest, and then dropped forward to bury his face in Ratchet’s neck.

Ratchet was all set to just lie there and pass out, then but Wheeljack moved, his spike sliding away, and as the weight on the table shifted, so did the table. For just an instant they were weightless before tumbling to the floor.

Surrounded by applause and laughter, dazed, the world still tilting in lazy angles, Ratchet groaned. “Ow.” Fine. He’d just pass out on the floor.


End file.
